


TKO

by kathryne



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Community: sanctuary_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Henry wondered – or at least, the first time he let himself wonder, consciously – he was in the gym.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TKO

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "The Gym" square on my sanctuary_bingo card. No spoilers; set prior to 1x07, "The Five."

The first time Henry wondered – or at least, the first time he let himself wonder, consciously – he was in the gym. 

Usually Ashley had to practically drag him by the ear to get him in for anything other than the weights. "I get enough cardio running after escaping monsters," he'd told her. "Yeah, but don't you wanna be able to run faster when they're chasing you?" she'd countered sweetly.

He'd had to give in on that one.

Today, though, had been a bad day. They'd lost the preggo beastie they'd been tracking; if they couldn't find him before he gave birth, his kits might not survive. Worse, they'd gotten wind of another poacher operating in Old City; the evidence left behind in her hideout had told them how much damage she'd done, but not where she'd disappeared to.

So all in all, Henry kinda felt like he needed to hit something – something real, even, not virtual.

"Looks like it's you and me," he muttered to the punching bag, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He feinted left, dodged right, and dealt the bag a solid right cross, letting the impact reverberate up his arm. It felt good. He did it again, got the left hand in there and a little one-two action going. Biff! Pow! Sock! He imagined each hit landing with a cartoon starburst surrounding it. The bag swayed with his punches, making him work to adapt.

He stopped thinking about technique and just started hitting, harder and harder, whaling on the bag like someone was smacking the X button on their controller. Planting his feet, he shoved his sweaty hair off his forehead and went for it, letting all his anger at the day's failures out through his fists.

And the bag broke.

Henry stared, astonished, at his hand, halfway through the leather of the bag. Still staring, he pulled it back. Little bits of foam came with it, and a trickle of metallic grains of sand.

"Oh, no. Oh, no no no," Henry said, trying to stem the stream of sand pouring out. He blocked it with his hands, but grains poured through his fingers. "Aw, _crap_ ," he said, looking around the empty gym. Finally he unwound the strapping from his knuckles and shoved it into the hole. It mostly worked. He backed away carefully, sand crunching under his shoes.

Crap. What'd he do? And how was he going to fix it?

"Henry?"

He spun, nearly overbalancing as the sand shifted beneath him. Magnus stood in the doorway, looking concerned. He tried to put his body between her and the punching bag, as if she wouldn't notice that way.

"Doc, hey, how's it goin'?" He gave her a sickly smile. "I didn't poach your gym time, did I? Cuz I was just getting started, but I can be outta here any time, you just say the word."

Magnus ignored his manic babbling; her eyes flitted from the bag to the sand on the floor to his unbruised hand. He flexed it unconsciously and she looked up at him sharply. "Are you all right?" she asked, intent.

"Yeah, no harm done," Henry said. Giving up the pretense, he held his hand up and wiggled his fingers. "All in working order. I musta hit a fault on the bag or something." He looked at the pile of sand on the wooden floor and winced. "I'll clean it up."

Magnus hovered in the doorway, looking almost uncertain, and something about the way she hung back made Henry's stomach drop. 

"Yes," she said finally, looking at him in fond exasperation, the way she'd looked at him and Ashley so many times over the years, and it was so familiar he almost grinned in relief. He kept his face straight as she kept talking. "Yes, I think that would be wise. And perhaps you should buy a new bag – _before_ Ashley finds out what's happened to hers?"

Henry winced. "Yeah, good call."

"Oh, and Henry," she said, as if in afterthought. "I believe you're overdue for a check-up regardless, so why don't you stop by tomorrow so I can be sure you've not harmed your hand." It wasn't a question.

"Aw, Doc! Cruel and unusual punishment," Henry protested. Magnus merely winked at him and walked off.

Henry looked down at his hands. They _did_ feel fine. Which, given that he'd just punched through a leather bag like it was Styrofoam, they probably shouldn't. So how on earth – 

"What the hell, dude!" Ashley smacked him in the shoulder, not as hard as he knew she could but harder than he thought she needed to. "I thought we were over the whole thing where you break my stuff!"

"Hey, I told you then, I tell you now, that thing with the Barbies was _not_ my fault," he retorted automatically.

"Yeah, well, _that_ sure is," Ashley said, pointing to the bag. The hole had come unplugged and sand was flowing out again. "What'cha gonna do about it?"

Henry glared at her. "I'll deal with it, all right?"

"Whoa, okay there, Rocky Balboa." Ashley backed away in mock surrender. "Don't get mad. Those hands should be registered as deadly weapons."

Henry laughed and she clapped him on the back, and they dealt with the mess together. But in the back of Henry's mind, the thought of his check-up with Magnus and what it might find never went away.


End file.
